It's A Shot In The Dark, But I'll Make It
by ofpaperdragons
Summary: Written from an OTP prompt list on tumblr: 'you live across the hall and you're in your underwear every time you open the door and it's so frustrating stop smiling oh I cannot even look at you.'


**Prompt: 'you live across the hall and you're in your underwear every time you open the door and it's so frustrating stop smiling oh god I cannot even look at you'**

Roderich had moved across many, many, many, apartments until he one day came to the very, very, very sad conclusion that perhaps the perfect apartment did not exist. That wasn't to say there weren't perfect apartments, merely to say that none of them were perfect for him. Coming from a wealthy family and having his own concert money to spend as he wished, meant that he could live wherever he liked. When he had asked the real Estate Agent for a 'high rise apartment, looking down on the Manhattan skyline, two rooms, and one big lounge for the love of my – I mean, my piano,' he'd thought it would be easy. The Upper East Side was, after all, full of those, wasn't it?

But alas, none felt _right._ And so Roderich, doing the thing he always did whenever it did not involve his piano skills, gave up.

And just like those horrible Kathryn Hiegl movies, where the woman gives up on love completely, she meets her soul mate; Roderich fell in love with an apartment he was pushed into by his ex-fiancé.

'I told you,' Elizaveta said. 'I fucking told you.'

'Don't be crass,' Roderich says. It's more of a repeated response now then an actual rebuttal. 'But yes, yes you did.'

A week later, Roderich moves in, and is _happy, happy, happy._

Things are perfect. His piano is beautiful ebony against the rich cream colored walls, and every morning, when he opens his door to get his delivered coffee, he turns away and looks out his balcony onto the skyline. Things are absolutely, completely perfect –

Until _The Incident._ Roderich is calling it The Incident, mainly because it deserves the Caps Lock.

Because two days ago, when Roderich waited an extra ten minutes for his delivered coffee, and angrily opened the door ready to rain down hellfire upon the delivery boy for making him _wait –_

When he saw a mostly naked man, standing there, holding his croissant bag in one hand and hot coffee in the other. He was clad in only underwear, and it took Roderich a minute before he could stop gaping at that to look up. Later, hidden away in the safe vestiges of his own room, Roderich would think that he was quite unusual, pale white skin throughout, and even whiter hair. His eyes were almost red in the light, Roderich will think.

But at that particular moment, he had just been assaulted with the image of a very fit, very naked ( _almost)_ man in front of his door way and stood there with his mouth open like some sort of stupid hick farmer with no sense of courtesy or hygiene.

So shocked was he, that when his eyes finally met the other man's, he started blushing. It was absolutely disgusting, Roderich admitted. Completely and utterly below him.

'Like what you see, darling?' The stranger said. His smirk had a quality to it that did two things simultaneously: Made Roderich want to kiss him senseless, and pissed off Roderich completely and utterly.

'In your dreams, you uncouth fool,' Roderich said. Not his best, but he actually had an excuse. 'And you, boy, why are you still standing there?'

The boy looks like he has not asked for any of this in his life. He rather reminds Roderich of those asexually reproducing jellyfish he saw with Eliza once at a fish world tank; all flubby and uncaring and distinctly _not asking for any of it, especially life._

'Yeah, so, there's like another person in this building who orders from the same place? Except he orders like half an hour later than you? So, like, we thought about it and talked to him cause there's really no point to me coming here twice, and he was nice enough to agree to have his coffee like, fifteen minutes early. And I was going to talk to you, if you could have yours like, ten minutes late?' throughout this little speech, the boy keeps staring at his nails like they're far more interesting than anything on this planet will ever be.

'Absolutely not,' Roderich says, grabbing his own coffee. He's wasted time, and he's still standing in this hallway, still staring at this absolute idiot of a human being, and being smiled at by another stupid (albeit hot) idiot in front of him – _and why is he still smiling? Does he have no sense of propriety, wait, why did I even think that? He's standing in his underwear in the middle of the hallway. Of course he doesn't have a sense of propriety._

'You got a name?' The man asks, as Roderich throws a few bills at the boy, who doesn't even blink at the money. 'Or should I call you specs?'

'People who do not have the decency to wear decent clothing in public do not deserve to know my name,' Roderich sniffs. He wants to go back in, so badly, but there's something that's just got him standing there. Maybe it's the abs.

'Technically, I'm not in public,' the man is smiling again. Godamnit. 'My feet are still inside my apartment.'

'Semantics,' Roderich says. It's an almost physical effort to not run his eyes down that fine _specimen of –_ shut up. _No. Absolutely not._

'So, like, I'll come ten minutes late tomorrow for you Mr. Edelstein, and fifteen minutes early for you, Mr. Beilschmidt,' The boy says, slipping the money into his pocket.

'No, you will not. You will come at my designated time for which I pay you,' Roderich says.

'Can I come early for you Mr. Beilschmidt?' The boy turns to the other guy.

And just when Roderich thinks the man is going to be a complete asshole and say, _nope,_ he says, 'Sure, kid.'

It's a sweet gesture until the albino ruins it by saying, 'Unlike some stuck up assholes, I know what it's like to work.'

Roderich cannot believe he found this disgusting specimen of humanity even remotely attractive. He does not bother with a reply, merely glares and retreats to his safety bubble that is his beautiful apartment.

So ever since that, Roderich has had to have his coffee at the same time, but feeling completely disgruntled because every morning, every _single_ goddamn morning, Roderich has to see Gilbert's face.

Oh, yes, they're at first name basis now. After all, it's just common decency to exchange names when you're insulting each other in the early hours of morning.

But more than that, it's not Gilbert's face that bothers him so much, since he can actually ignore the attractive features because of that _insolent_ smile on the man's face; what bothers Roderich is the complete and utter disregard for clothes the man has. Every single day, Roderich sees him in underwear. Every. Single. Day.

It has gotten to the point where it's almost etched into his brain.

'Good morning,' Gilbert says on Friday.

Roderich is in a good mood, since he's almost done with his newest composition, and so he answers nicely, 'Good morning, Gilbert. How are you?'

'Well, let's see, I'm as awesome as always,' He says, easily. He's barely brushed his hair back and Roderich is hit with the urge to mess it up even more. He stifles it. 'Say, prissy, what do you do shut up in there all day?'

'Not that that's any of your business,' Roderich says as he takes his coffee. 'But I'm a professional piano player.'

'So you're good at banging keys?' Gilbert asks. He's smiling again.

'Don't' let my piano hear you say that,' Roderich says. It surprises him to notice that he is actually smiling back.

The boy who delivers their coffee is still the same. At least some things never change, Roderich thinks.

The next day, Roderich asks, 'What do you do? You never leave, either. You're in desperate need of a tan, you know.'

Gilbert is wearing his new underwear today. Roderich can tell, mainly because he's seen most of them, and he actually knows the days where Gilbert wears what, and recognizes when things are new. Which isn't creepy in the least, he tells himself. It's completely normal to know that, especially when you see the person every day, wearing nothing but _that._

Roderich doesn't like thinking about why he knows so much about Gilbert's underwear, because instead of thinking about _why_ he knows, he always ends up thinking about _what he remembers,_ which is frankly very uncalled for, because he remembers every inch of Gilbert's body perfectly fine anyways.

'Well, I'm a programmer,' Gilbert says. 'I used to work pretty much constantly before hand, but then I got sick. So then, when I got better, I decided I wanted to know what the world looked like, instead of the four walls of my office I spent years in.'

'So now you spend your time looking at the four walls of your apartment?' The boy asks. It's the first question that's made either of them acknowledge the fact that their conversations aren't really _private._

'Something like that. But hey, one of those walls is made of glass, so I can see the whole city when I wake up,' Gilbert says, except there's something sad at the corner of his everyday smile.

And so it goes, until one day, Roderich opens his door and sees not one, but two mean at the doorway across from him. And he hates the fact that it makes his blood run cold.

Gilbert is in his normal lack of attire, he is however, standing next to a man with blonde hair, and much better physique. The other man is wearing shorts and a tank top, and reminds Roderich of his own face in the mirror sometimes.

The one Eliza used to get creeped out by when they were having sex. _Unemotional psychopath with the mental capacity of a mollusk,_ she'd said, when they were having coffee. Roderich had had two options: 1) Argue in the defense of phylum mollusk, or, 2) simply nod his head and smile. Like any other self-respecting man, had gone with option two.

But it's not this man, or his mollusk face that bothers him, it's more the sheer happiness that Gilbert seems to be radiating around him. At once, two things happen that leave Roderich sad. One is the immense joy of knowing Gilbert is, in fact, gay. And the other is the intense disappointment sadness over the fact that he is already with someone.

'Oh, I thought you'd be with someone else,' their delivery boy says. He sends a forlorn look towards Roderich.

Roderich wants pity, but he'd much rather have his own pity-party later, with Mozart's Requiem in the background.

He's picked up his coffee and is admittedly, in a very prissy way, going back inside his apartment. He's always been this way. Any situation that makes him uncomfortable or emotionally fraught has been responded to with an equal fervor of _I-am-so-much-better-that-you_ attitude. And that's what he's doing, when he hears Gilbert call his name.

'Roddy, meet Ludwig,' he says. He's smiling again, so, so bright. 'He's my little bro, but he's almost just as awesome.'

And just like that, Roderich feels like the first time he ever heard Chopin.

'Your brother?' Roderich asks. 'Lovely to meet you. Roderich Edelstein.'

'Ludwig Beilschmidt, L&G Electronics,' he says. He almost seems to realize that he's given his business introduction, and that too in shorts and a tank top. He seems humbled by this for a moment.

'You work at L&G electronics?' Roderich asks. He never knew Gilbert's brother was good enough. L&G Electronics was one of the best companies for software and hardware available. Even someone as tech-retarded (Eliza's words), as Roderich knew that.

'Work? Oh, no, my little bro's now the CEO,' Gilbert says. His smile seems to be touching new milestones today.

Ludwig seems uncomfortable. But then again, Roderich hasn't noticed a single moment where the man has actually looked comfortable. 'I took over from Gilbert about six months ago.'

'And he's been handling it _fucking_ great,' Gilbert says. Despite being shorter, he manages to ruffle Ludwig's hair. The effect is far cuter than should be possible on two grown men. 'Almost better than I did.'

'You were CEO of one of the biggest computer companies in the country?' Roderich hasn't had a sip of coffee and feels confused.

'Eh. I started off in my garage fixing things for a bunch of friends way back in high school. And that just helped at Caltech and shit. And then, boom,' Gilbert says.

Roderich is amazed. 'Why'd you leave? That isn't to imply that your brother is any less competent, but, why?'

Ludwig suddenly looks saddened. It's a bad look, but it's the fact that Gilbert takes a minute to answer that tells Roderich that it was something far more serious that whatever excuse Gilbert's going to give. 'Meh. I got really sick about two years ago. And then, when I got better, I thought, oh well, I've done enough. Might as well let the little bro take the wheel. Best decision I've ever made.'

It's Ludwig's face and the tightening of his fists that tells Roderich that it went more like, _I'm probably going to die and I need you to take care of the one productive thing I've done in my life._

'It was lovely meeting you, Roderich,' Ludwig says, 'Hopefully we'll meet when we're both awake and my brother is wearing clothes.'

'I wouldn't wait for it,' Roderich replies, and is shocked when Gilbert's loud laugh meets him.

'You know me too well, Specs.'

But after Roderich is back in the safety of his home, sipping his disgusting lukewarm coffee with hazelnut foam, he can't quite get the conversation out of his mind. Gilbert did all that? Started off in a garage, which meant they weren't well off at all, Caltech, obviously smart and more than capable.

Who would have thought that his half-naked Albino neighbor would end up being the founder of a company like _that_?

Roderich suddenly wants to know more. He wants to know everything about Gilbert, what he likes for food, what his favorite book is, if he even listens to classical music. And if he doesn't, then Roderich wants to sit him down next to him and play him his favorite pieces until he's filled with the music, and he wants to kiss him, and hold him and ask him why he was sick and never let him get sick again –

So, maybe, just maybe. Roderich has been lying when he said that no feelings were involved and that his attraction to Gilbert is a mere physical thing.

Well, shit. Roderich hates himself now.

One morning, when he and Gilbert are routinely trading insults without actually meaning them, he realizes that he is tired of these fifteen minute conversations at the door.

So, one fine morning, about a total of three months after The Incident, when Roderich is paying for his coffee, he abruptly says, 'Would you perhaps like to have your coffee with me, inside, where there's an actual table for you to put it on? And proper conversation?'

'Oh god, finally,' the delivery boy says.

'Go away,' they both say, simultaneously.

Gilbert grabs something from inside; Roderich notes that he's taken up his keys. 'I'd love to,' he says.

'The guys at the shop are going to love this,' the delivery boy says as he walks away.

'You want me to put some clothes on?' Gilbert asks.

'No, it's fine. Come in,' Roderich only realizes what he's said when he's already said it, and blushes like the virgin he used to be.

Gilbert laughs, says, 'Suit yourself.'

There's nothing too different, apart from the startling realization that he has a mostly-naked Gilbert _in his apartment,_ they still go through their normal conversations.

Roderich is sipping his coffee when Gilbert says, 'that's a Steinway and Sons Grand piano, isn't it. Let me guess, crafted somewhere around the 1890's and the 1910's?'

Roderich has never been more attracted to a man in his life. 'How do you possibly know that?'

'Well, let's see, I'm not as stupid or as ignorant as I may lead people to believe,' Gilbert says, a wry smile carving his lips. Roderich doesn't like these shadowed smiles; they hide secrets, years and years of opinions and judgments that Roderich understands better than anyone because he's gone through the exact same thing – 'I had this musician girlfriend once. She loved instruments, but her favorite was the piano and the violin. Thus, Gilbert Beilschmidt also became a semi-expert in telling the brand and year of piano's and violins. I'm lost with cello's though.'

'You do it on purpose,' Roderich says. Gilbert's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. 'You do it so people underestimate you, and you do it to see how they treat you when they don't know how smart you are, and how they treat people who are different then them.'

It's the first proper compliment Roderich has ever given Gilbert to his face.

'Got it right the first time, Roddy,' Gilbert says. His eyes hold a new appreciative determination, like he's just come to a conclusion of a passage that had him befuddled for weeks.

That conversation stays with Roderich.

They do it every day, and each day, Gilbert stays just a bit longer.

Until one day, Roderich has to meet Eliza for their monthly dinner. They've been doing since they broke up, and since Roderich doesn't exactly have a minefield of friends to hang out with, he's alright with Elizaveta's company. After all, they didn't break up because they didn't get along. He enters the elevator, only to see Gilbert coming out of his apartment. He holds the elevator open.

It's the first time he's seen Gilbert in clothes, and Roderich has never hated himself as much as he does in that moment because the first though in his head is, _take it off._

Gilbert is wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt inside, his leather jacket is immaculate. He has a cross necklace on. With his dark attire, his cheekbones look even sharper. He looks like a model, his hair even lighter, and his eyes even brighter.

'Oh, hey there, Specs,' Gilbert says. He almost looks sheepish, if such a look could be attributed to Gilbert.

'You look- well, you- um,' Roderich can't say he's ever been speechless before.

'Sexy? Hot?' Gilbert says, smiling again. 'Not naked? Beyond every fantasy you've ever had?'

'Clothed. I was going to say clothed before you so rudely interrupted me,' Roderich answers.

'So where are you going,' Gilbert says, pressing the ground floor. 'I thought you were a shut in.'

'I have a dinner date with a friend,' Roderich answers.

'Ooh. Fancy. Is it an ex-girlfriend?' Gilbert asks.

Roderich grunts. 'Not that it's any of your business, but yes. A very good friend who I used to be romantically involved with. We're on excellent terms.'

'Any chance of getting together?' Gilbert asks.

And for some reason, Roderich's frustration at himself for not being bold enough to make a move and anger at Gilbert for being too damn attractive for his own damn good, comes out in a, 'Maybe.'

But Gilbert's face falls, and he suddenly seems to close off. He's so close to Roderich, they've never been in such close proximity before, but suddenly, he seems further away than he ever has been.

'Well, best of luck, then,' Gilbert says. He's completely isolated; his clothed attire and his attitude – Roderich has never seen him like this and immediately hates it. He suddenly wants it to be morning again, where he and Gilbert are sitting in his kitchen and drinking coffee and talking, smiling and open and –

The elevator opens, and Gilbert steps out with a careless, 'Bye, Roderich.'

In the six months they've known each other, Gilbert has never once called him Roderich. And even though every time he calls him Specs and Roddy, and whatever new insulting name he's come up with, Roderich doesn't ever want to hear his name out of Gilbert's name again. Not like that.

His dinner with Elizaveta is as ordinary as always. Perhaps that's why they broke up; Eliza had always wanted things that were _up there,_ and she'd wanted more than Roderich was willing to give to another person. They've made their peace with it, and the fact that they don't hold grudges is the reason that they're still such good friends. Eliza still attends all his high-profile concerts, still calls him up to see if he hasn't died alone.

But today there's something off; Eliza is excitedly chatting about some Turkish man she's met, named Sadiq, who's absolutely her type, and she seems so _happy,_ so much happier than she was with Roderich and he thinks Gilbert makes him _happy_. And suddenly sitting here talking to his ex-fiancé seems like wasting a very delicate time in his life. R

Roderich has never been for sudden declarations or spontaneous decisions. So he waits, waits until they've had dinner and dessert and that one extra glass of white wine Eliza has after every dinner she's ever had.

'You've met a guy, haven't you,' Eliza says. She's always been much more shrewd than people give her credit for.

Roderich nods. 'I have. And I need to make sure I don't lose him.'

Eliza sips the last of her wine, and Roderich makes a disgusted sound at how much the restaurant charges. Eliza laughs, cups his face, says, 'Same old, Roderich. But at least you're making an effort for this guy. Go.'

Except Roderich's plan to go back to his apartment in a peaceful state is completely and utterly ruined by the torrential rain that pours down. And even though it barely takes him four minutes to rush across the road to his building gate, he is drenched by the time he gets into the elevator.

And when he's finally standing in front of his apartment, he can't find his keys. And so he stands there in his Burberry coat that cost a fortune and is currently dripping onto the plush carpet, until Gilbert comes out of the elevator next. Surprisingly, he's only barely wet.

At Roderich's questioning glance, he says, 'Leather jacket, remember.'

'You forget your keys?' Gilbert asks.

Roderich scoffs. He's uncomfortable, and it's brought out his inner aristocrat. 'I never forget my keys.'

'Then why the fuck are you standing dripping in the middle of the hallway?' Gilbert laughs.

'Because, I can't find the keys I remembered to take with me,' Roderich answers back.

Gilbert opens his door, and sighs loudly. 'Get in, you can stay at mine tonight, and call up the landlord in the morning. He has a copy of the key.'

'No, thank you,' Roderich says, except Gilbert actually grabs his hand and pulls him in. He's much stronger than he looks; because he looks lean, but nothing like his brother. But the raw strength has Roderich almost shaking.

'You need to stop being so stubborn, young master,' Gilbert says, but there's no laughing smile to it.

He's quickly paraded to the bathroom, a white marble monstrosity that comprises of a very large bathtub. Gilbert comes back with a pair of faded jeans and a button down shirt Roderich knows is large for him.

'Change,' Gilbert says. 'I'll get a towel for your hair. You'll die of a cold otherwise.'

And although Roderich's pride is crying in a corner for being so agreeable about it, he doesn't say anything because Gilbert is being _nice,_ here, no insults, and no nothing and it is super cold outside.

When he's changed and placed his wet clothes in the hamper, Gilbert comes in.

'Sit,' he orders. There's something like steel in his voice. Roderich is manhandled onto sitting on the edge of the tub. There's a terrycloth towel in his hair in a moment, and Roderich grabs it before it falls down.

And just before Gilbert leaves, Roderich says, 'Thank you.'

Gilbert scoffs. There's something sad in his face. 'You don't have to thank me for having common decency, Rod. Anyways, how was your date? Did you guys seal the deal?'

Roderich is suddenly done with it all. 'No, we did not. And we never will, for the same reason we didn't in the past.'

Gilbert suddenly comes closer. Roderich is rubbing his head with the towel with the determination and strength of a mother of four in the early days in the South, who has to wash clothes in the river and the quickly she does, the quickly she can go home to talk to Sadie about who's daughter ran away with who.

Gilbert grabs his hands. 'You're going to ruin all your pretty hair like that, Specs. Let me.'

And Gilbert's hands are surprisingly gentle as he rubs the moisture away, and when he's done, he goes to throw the towel in the hamper as well.

Roderich takes the time to remove his fogged up glasses, and when he turns away from the mirror, Gilbert is right behind him.

'Is everything alright?' Roderich asks. His vision is just a bit blurred, but nothing that's too bad. He can still see perfectly fine, which is why when Gilbert leans in and brushes his thumb across Roderich's cheekbone, his breath catches.

'Everything's great, Roderich,' Gilbert says, smiling. But then, the smile falls away, and he almost looks angry. 'You know what, no. It's not alright.'

And before Roderich knows what's happening, Gilbert kisses him. He kisses him the same way he's done everything so far: vulgar, open and without the slightest bit of hesitation, his tongue sliding over Roderich's upper lip, his teeth biting Roderich's lower one.

And Roderich kisses him back, without any care, for the first time, one hand wrapped at the back of Gilbert's neck, the other in that white gold hair he's been aching to touch since the first time.

Gilbert's hands are unbuttoning the shirt Roderich put on just a few minutes ago, and his hands are sliding over his chest, twisting nipples and rubbing, feeling every inch; the expanse of his back. It's enough to make him groan into Gilbert's mouth, the mouth he's wanted to feel against his own for _months_ now.

And he finally has it. It's enough to make him smile.

'God, we need to get you out of these clothes,' Gilbert manages to say as he presses kisses on the side of Roderich's neck.

'Eager, aren't we?' Roderich can't help but say. He's breathless; it's been far too long since he's had someone pressing him against a hard surface, longer still since he's wanted it this bad.

He thinks he'll get a denial, or something, but like always, Gilbert shocks him, and says, 'Hell yes. I've been parading around in my goddamn underwear for months now, and I haven't seen a sliver of skin from you, you prude.'

Gilbert unbuttons his jeans like a true professional, and before Roderich knows it, he's standing naked in Gilbert's bathroom. He feels awfully revealed, and the way Gilbert looks at him doesn't exactly help his predicament. Gilbert's looking at hi, up and down, like he can't believe what he's seeing, and after a few moments Roderich feels far too open to be comfortable and almost starts wrapping his hands around himself until Gilbert catches his hands in his own.

'Oh, hell no, Specs,' Gilbert says. He's smiling, loud and huge. 'I've sent months imagining what you've got; it's my turn to stare.'

Roderich blushes at that, and he hates the fact that he blushes, because it's cute when he's clothed, but when he's naked, the redness spreads down and he looks _absolutely –_

'Gorgeous. Godamnit, why do you have to be so fucking hot, huh?' Gilbert says, and Roderich gets even warmer, which is just _awful._

He takes the moment where Gilbert places his forehead on Roderich's and says, 'Take your clothes off. Please.'

It's such a small, secret request, a bare breath against Gilbert's lips, and it's a sign of how much Gilbert must like him, because he doesn't push for once, just pulls his shirt off.

And here's the thing, Roderich has seen Gilbert without a shirt, without pants every day, _every single day,_ but he's just as lost now as he was the very first time he laid eyes on him. And Gilbert steps out of his jeans, and he's wearing black Calvin Klein, which is strange because –

'It's Friday. You're supposed to be wearing the white Jockey underwear,' Roderich says, and then shuts up because _why, God, why._

Only Gilbert laughs, laughs and laughs, until Roderich is worried that here go any chances of them doing anything, before he grabs Roderich and kisses him, kisses him long and hard until Roderich is almost dizzy from the lack of air.

They're both panting more from the kissing than any real need. It's comfortable, and yet, it takes Roderich away from reality. He can hear music without playing it, and suddenly he understands what it means to be _happy._

'Oh, shut up, and do something,' Roderich answers, his nose turned up until Gilbert brings his face down for another kiss and a hand around his cock. His answering hitch is enough to make Gilbert bite down on his neck as he strokes and Roderich can't hold in his moan this time. It's enough to make Gilbert sooth it away with his tongue, and then _suck_ on the abused patch of skin, hard, hard, _harder,_ with his hand still stroking _,_ and Roderich is almost lost in a maze of need. The only thing that matters is him and Gilbert, in this moment.

'Could you, perhaps, move a bit faster?' Roderich manages to spit out when Gilbert finally detaches his mouth from Roderich's neck. He's almost involuntarily thrusting into Gilbert's hand, and since Gilbert is an asshole, he slows his hand down until Roderich tries every trick he knows to get him to speed up. He kisses Gilbert, palms him through his boxers, rubs his hands over him, but Gilbert just smirks and keeps moving his hand _oh, so slow._

'You deserve it, you fucking tease,' Gilbert says. 'I can't believe I get to fucking do this.'

And then Gilbert licks his palm and speeds up, only a little, and Roderich has hands wrapped around Gilbert's neck, and the small _ah-ah-ah_ noises he makes would be embarrassing if they were in front of anyone else but Gilbert. He's seen the man in nothing but his underwear, for months; he can afford to be a little revealing. It almost hurts, and it's the fact that he's imagined this in the deep dark time at night when he's all alone, and the fact that it's Gilbert that has him even harder.

He's so hard, it actually hurts to let Gilbert do what he wants, continue at this torturous speed of his, but Roderich's toes are curling and when Gilbert circles his thumb around a nipple, Roderich shudders. He's so _close,_ and he keeps begging for just a little _more._

'God, fucking look at you,' Gilbert says, 'just fucking look at you.'

And their eyes meet and Roderich isn't sure what happened, but Gilbert starts stroking faster and kisses the bruise he's made on Roderich's neck and it only takes a few more strokes of Gilbert's hand to bring Roderich right at the edge, but it's when Gilbert kneels and takes him in his mouth, right up to the hilt, no warning, that Roderich comes with a scream that he will forever deny.

He's breathing hard, and he's starting to get that sleepy feeling, when he sees Gilbert rise and pull his underwear down. He's almost going to grab his own cock, when Roderich practically yells, 'Don't you dare.'

Gilbert, understandably, looks confused. 'What?'

'I've seen every part of you, apart from that. I've earned the right to do this,' Roderich says, before he kneels down, and takes Gilbert into his mouth. He's never liked giving blowjobs, but he likes _Gilbert,_ and knowing that he's the one who can make him lose that constant look of condescension, make him lose the sense of his being, make him close his eyes and groan with abandon, is far more satisfying than any orgasm he's had with other partners.

'Roderich,' Gilbert breathes out his name when he comes, and suddenly, Roderich wants to hear his name in that low, dark voice _all the time._

When they're done, they dress and head to the bedroom. ( _We just blew each other, I'm not going to make you sleep on the couch, what the fuck,_ was Gilbert's reasoning.) But before that, they decide they needed to talk.

When Roderich puts his glasses back on, Gilbert kisses him, again, sudden. 'So, what now?'

Roderich takes a moment and looks around the kitchen. Things are immaculately organized, and there's a _coffee machine._ 'Why do you own a coffee machine?' Roderich asks. 'Why do you order coffee when you've got a _coffee machine?_ '

'I like Francis' coffee? He's like, one of my best friends, _'_ Gilbert says,'at first it was because of good coffee. And then it was an excuse to talk to you.'

Gilbert has poured them both a cup of coffee, and there's that look again. The one Roderich would call sheepish, if something like that could happen to Gilbert's face.

The coffee is steaming, and there's a record of Mozart's Requiem on the table, and Gilbert's mouth is a bit swollen and red, and _he owns a coffee maker,_ and Roderich realizes he might just want to go steady with this guy.

'You haven't answered,' Gilbert says. 'What now?'

And here's the thing. He and Gilbert have so much ahead of them. Blowjobs, and proper sex and Roderich wants to sit Gilbert down and make him listen to him playing the piano, wants to try to teach him. Roderich wants to know why Gilbert was sick, how he got better, if it'll ever happen again; he wants to know how he got so good at fixing things, and how he started his own company out of high school and who _Francis_ is, and how long ago Gilbert stopped ordering coffee for the sake of coffee and instead as an excuse to talk to Roderich. Roderich wants to know what he likes to eat, wants to go out to restaurants and complain over the outrageous prices, what his favorite food his, if he owns any suits. He wants to know what his favorite position is, wants to wake up in the morning next to him, and wants to know what deep, dark, depraved thing Gilbert jerks off to when nothing works. Roderich wants it all. He wants everything.

Roderich sips the coffee. It's actually pretty good. 'Now, we sleep. Tomorrow, I introduce you to the magic of Tchaikovsky and Johann Sebastian the second.'

For a second, Gilbert looks confused, but then he's grabbing Roderich, and kissing him sweet and long, a press of lips, a promise, coffee abandoned.

.

The next day, the delivery boy is still not shocked when he sees them both in the same apartment.

'Like, fucking finally, guys. Nice hickey, by the way' he says, handing over the coffee. He waves their money away. 'Francis won't charge when he finds out his best friend got laid. On the house, and use protection.'

He still looks just as bored as the first time he delivered their coffee.

'That kid is fucking weird,' Gilbert says. He's in his underwear, again. 'Never again.'

Roderich shifts his cup to the other hand. He's wearing Gilbert's shirt, unbuttoned, and is also in his underwear.

'For once, I wholeheartedly concur,' Roderich says. 'Thank God you have a coffee maker.'


End file.
